Post Secret
by Hanna Katherina
Summary: In confession... he opened his life to the healing, reconciling, restoring, uplifting grace of the one who loves him in spite of what he is. When Severus confesses to his darkest secrets, he unwittingly forges a bond with the only person who can save him
1. Circumstance

**Hello all:D This is my first story here! I've been reading fanfiction forever, and wanted to try my hand at it! This is a slash story eventually so warnings about that. This is based on a website, from which it gets its name. People from all over send in anonymous post cards with deep secrets on them and the cards appear weekly on this site for the world to see. This fic will involve two of my favorite characters, and the confessions that draw them together. **

Chapter 1

Severus grabbed the parchment off the shelf, dusting it off with his sleeve hastily. His fingers trembling, he grips his quill like a blind man clings to his dog. Slowly, he begins to spell the letters out, eventually forming words, forming sentences, forming a perfect paragraph, its words bold with the weight of confession.

_I am beyond remorse. I am beyond pain._

_I feel as if a rope has been tied tightly across my chest,_

_The weight of my sins dangles down from it. _

_There is no sanity, no sanctity anymore. _

_If I had the courage, I would end it all._

_But there is not enough liqueur in the world _

_To encourage a man such as myself,_

_To actions as paramount as those. _

He doesn't sign his name. With trembling fingers and a fluttering heart, he ties the confession to the leg of the bird nearest to him. The dusky owl regards him inquisitively. "Destination?" seems etched in its amber irises. "Your choice," Severus whispers as the owl spreads its wings and soars out the window. For a brief moment, Severus is all elation, is all hope. He has exposed himself, in the most secure of all fashions. When sunlight kisses the hem of the horizon, he descends from the owlery into the gloom of the dungeons, carrying his relief like a torch in his breast.

…

By the time Severus barrels into the great hall he is humiliated with himself. Such moments of weakness, common when he's been chugging absinthe with reckless disregard, have gone too far. He almost brutally takes his seat at the teachers' table, not touching his steaming breakfast, merely observing the masses of students swarming about from table to table_. One of them has my letter._ He grimaces. He knows it. One of the contemptible little brats will receive his letter-his bitter revelation. Will they laugh it off and show it to their friends? Will they hide it under there musky pillows and ponder over it in the godless corners of the night? He shakes his head wearily. He is not going to let his drinking lead him to such risks again.

The day passes slowly, one class blending into the next until the day becomes a fabric of questions and chastisements. Only in his sixth year potions class does he awake briefly from the mental fog that's been congesting his thoughts all day. Harry Potter is furiously stirring his lime green mess of a concoction, casting baleful looks at his neighbor's correct pink simmering potion. His hair, longer now, chin length, falls into his eyes, and he flicks it away quickly in annoyance.

"Mr. Potter." Severus drawls.

"Yes?" Harry glances up warily, like a puppy about to be kicked.

"What exactly have you created?"

Harry glares back and with a curl of his lip intones, "The potion assigned, sir".

Snape dips a nearby ladle into the soup of a ruined potion and lets the contents drop back into the bubbling cauldron.

"The assignment was to create a Serenity potion Mr. Potter, not replicate the consistency, color, and texture of the mucus in your nasal cavities. A zero for the day."

With the vague warmth of satisfaction giving bounce to his step, Severus stalks away, but he can't help noticing that this warmth is nothing compare to the radiance of this mornings.

…

When the day is completed and the last of his dorm mates have began their heavy sleep laden breaths, Harry takes out the letter, for the twelfth time that day, and pours over it with thirst barley quenched by the bold, firm paragraph. His mind can barley grasp it; some horrified, lost person, had written out a deep secret, then, like a message in a bottle, given it to a owl to deliver to whom it chose. Harry couldn't believe that such faith and acts of resignation existed. Through the velvet curtains of his bed, he could hear Ron stirring in his sleep, mumbling within his dreams. Harry decides then and there, he would write back, he would find the owl, and give this brother, this lonely companion, a secret of his own. Reaching carefully into his bedside drawer, he pulls out parchment and quill, giving himself time to think his response out. When it is perfect, he sets his trembling pen to the parchment, and in a shaky scrawl, begins to write.

_When my friends pull away from my hugs,_

_I tell myself it is because we are too old for such things,_

_But I know in my heart,_

_It's because they believe that_

_I killed him. _

He is still trembling when he pens the final line, his handwriting having steadied. When he dots the period, his is terrified. He can feel his pulse like a dark horse racing through his temples. Slipping on his invisibility cloak, he slips out of the shelter of his velvet curtains, into the quiet of the dorm. He listens…snores and mumbling, all is quiet. He slips out of the dorm door, into the common room, were the embers from the fading fire make the rooms shadows twice a long as they were. He pushes back the portrait of the fat lady ever so slowly, and miraculously she doesn't wake. His heart gives a flutter; he is almost done, almost complete. He tears up the stairs to the owlry, the school's quiet pressing on him like a thousand pale hands. When he reaches the owlery, he looks for the little brown owl from this morning, and finds it on a perch near the window. Tying the note to the owls willing leg, he briefs it in his most professional voice

"Now, take this to the man who used you earlier with no destination in mind. Give it to his at breakfast"

the owls expression did not change, but slowly, never taking her eyes off his, she hoots softly and rustles her feathers. Harry slides his hand over the crest of her soft head once before exiting the dusty room. When he has closed the door, a wave crashes over him. He has done it. The secret that has held him powerless, like a knife to his throat, is out. Relief, smooth and incense scented slides across his brow. He doesn't bother with his wand for light on his way back; he feels it is within himself already.


	2. Beginnings

**Hello! I would like to say thank you to all those who have read my story, and to my two, precious first reviewers:D Ya'll have made my day! I hope this chapter pleases!**

Severus is hung over. He sits hunched over his breakfast plate, little bits of his hair brush into his omelet, much to his annoyance. Last night was another regrettable liqueur orgy, he indulges in them the way other men indulge in emotions. As he finishes shoveling the last of the 5 egg omelet past his thin lips, his eyes dart upwards as the chorus of wings from the owl post fills the great hall. His heart begins to beat faster now, and he forces himself to look away; yet he can't deny the faint gleam that is beginning to grow inside him. _What will this day bring?_ It is a question he hasn't asked himself in years. Minerva turns to stare at him, as if sensing some change imperceptible to human eyes or ears. He glares and turns away feeling guilty and delightfully self indulgent.

Then, as if in a dream there is his little owl, soaring towards him steadily, dusky wings flapping in the morning sun, and landing non to gracefully in the grit dish to his left. Severus snatches the letter from the owl's leg, and with the haste of a cheating school boy, slips the attached note deep into his robe pocket. He will finger it throughout the day through the silk fabric that lines his pocket, like a rosary. His classes draw slowly by, dull hour, by agonizing hour, until at last, he has the chance to slip into his store room, during his last hour, double Griffindor and Slytherin potions.

His rib cage feels 3 sizes too small as he struggles to breath slowly while tearing at the slip of paper. As he read the message, all the air in his lungs escapes as swiftly. _My god._ He ducks his head out the door nervously. His thoughts race, coming to one conclusion which he desperately tries to avoid, to disprove, **anything**! But the blood evidence is to hard to ignore…Harry potter, stirring his cauldron looks up briefly, sensing a change in the tone of the room, there eyes meet briefly, and Harry nearly drops his ladle. Scrabbling to pick it up, he begins chopping his nettle roots (which really need to be shredded) in an effort to look busy. Severus doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. His brief ray of hope, his confident, is none other than Harry Potter. Severus nearly wretches.

…

When he bursts into his rooms at the end of the day, he has decided his course of action. With all the eagerness of a child, he has decided to maintain his correspondence with Harry Potter, to draw all those silly emotional secrets out of the boy, then delight in them in private. It is his own, most subtle form of revenge. They will trade secrets, Severus decides, until, he will reveal the best secrete of all, that he known all along to whom his correspondence has been addressed. Like a tea kettle about to boil over, a jolly, alien laugh erupts from deep with in his chest. The sound surprises him greatly, and he stops abruptly. Getting down to business, he takes out parchment and pen. His hands are perfectly steady as he begins to write, **his** secret is safe after all.

…

Harry floats between classes that day, his spirit buoyed by the enlightenment of correspondence. His smile, his real one- the one he thought he'd never use again- seemed attached to his lips, like a false mustache. His friends shot him confused looks all that day, secretly wondering if he and Neville had been practicing cheering charms again. By the time Harry lies awake in bed that night, it's not from fear of nightmares, or anxiety, it's from anticipation. Morning it seems, could never come too soon.

…

The next day, Harry sits between Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, picking at his pancakes and beacon, waiting. He keeps glancing up at every slight rustling sound, waiting for the chorus of wings that will herald his letter. Ron, noticing the tightness in his friends face, the sporadic movements of his arms and hands, finally speaks up.

"Harry mate, what on earth are so anxious about?"

Harry, blushing, can't help but grin.

"Nothing Ron. Nothing. I'm just...waiting for the post. Expecting something good."

Ron stares at him blankly and shrugging indifferently, turns back to his cereal. Harry notices Hermione's eyes narrow. If she were a cat, he could have sworn her tail would be thoroughly twitching. Then, suddenly, the rustling from the widows announces the morning post.

Harry can barley remain seated, tension like a corset binds his breast. Then- he spots it, the little dusky owl from the night before. It doesn't bother to halt its flight, merely dropping the letter into Harry's lap. Harry, snatching the letter to his chest, rushes out of the Great Hall, mumbling some nonsense about a bathroom. He sprints until he sees a closet near the main doors, jumping in it like a kid over hopscotch. He slams the doors with a dull thud. The scent of mothballs and dust fills his nostrils. Sneezing primly, he whips out his wand, mumbling

"Lumos" as quietly as a prayer.

Setting his wand in a nearby coat pocket he unfolds the letter, and, tries to read the paper that shakes like a leaf in his hands.

_I tell myself I have no time,_

_And do not have the energy to spare on the effort,_

_But in truth,_

_I'm terrified of any relationship_

_Other than tolerance and antipathy. _

Harry smiles, already composing his reply in his minds eye. Through the door of the wardrobe he can here the footsteps of the first years tramping down to Care of Magical Creatures. When the hall is silent Harry climbs quickly out of the closet, and sprints to transfiguration, forgetting his books and cloak. It will be a long day for Harry yet.


	3. Realizations

**Hope y'all enjoy this new chapter! Any critique or comments are very welcome! This is, as you know, my first fic, and I'm really interested to see your responses to my writing. Any suggestions are so appreciated! Thanks for reading! **

Chapter Three: Realizations

During seventh period, Harry wasn't taking notes, he wasn't listening to Professor Binns's droning lecture, he was composing his reply. His hands weren't shaking, his breathing wasn't heavy, but he was penning his most incriminating confession yet.

_I've never had a serious relationship,_

_Because I know if I_

_Admit to my friends that I'm gay,_

_I'll alienate myself further._

_And they're all I have left. _

Despite the magnitude of his confession, Harry isn't terrified. He's scrawled these words thousands of times, in the margins of his paper, traced lightly on desks, in the palm of his hand, but always hastily blotted out. These are the words he has rehearsed since the moment of his self-discovery, like an actor before his first performance, yet he feels as if on paper, compared to the flesh of speaking, they pale in comparison. Shrugging, Harry folds his letter, and takes up his quill, pretending to pay attention. He can feel the pressure of Hermione's gaze between his shoulder blades. Her skills of perception, once so encouraged by him, now feel like an intrusion. He now knows why he wants his correspondence to be all his own. In his life full of veiled emotions, unspoken thoughts, and almost daily deceptions, he has found something pure, untainted by his fame, and all the misapprehensions that come with it.

…

Snape is halfway through his _Fettuccine Alfredo _when the owl soars into the Great Hall. Owls at dinner, though rare, are never a cause for much alarm. To Severus on the other hand, this had sirens roaring in his head. _Damn Potter, too eager to wait till breakfast. Just like his father, always pushing things too far._ His anticipation for the reply is squelched by his annoyance; his favorite meal is being disturbed.

The owl quickly drops the letter on his shoulder, then soars off to hunt mice elsewhere. Severus glances at Potter to make sure the exchange hadn't been witnessed. Potter, oblivious, is buried behind the deluxe edition of _The Deluxe Guide to Quidditch Tactics_. Snorting, Snape doesn't savor the anticipation that usually mounts in his stomach before a letter, rather, he simply uses his butter knife to slit open the clumsy wax seal. Impatiently, his eyes scan the lines, devouring their contents like a starving man, despite his annoyance.

When he reaches "that I'm gay," the pumpkin juice Snape has just swigged comes forcefully back out his mouth, and all over the table cloth in front of him. Minerva and Albus both immediately draw their wands, expecting Severus to inform them of some impending tragedy, alerted by his mark. Severus resists the first urge to chuckle he has had in twelve years. Coughing tersely, he growls.

"Pumpkin juice was positively rancid! Blasted house elves have grown unacceptably incompetent in the leniency recently shown to them."

Gathering his robes around him protectively, and shoving the letter into their innermost pocket, he storms out of the Great Hall, leaving a wake of awed and silent students in his wake.

…

"What's bugging him?" Ron says grinning from ear to ear.

Seamus, giggling, half shouts, "Maybe he's suddenly realized what a git he is!"

"Harry!" Ron's voice is edged in anticipation and slight guilt. "Did you want to get in a game of Wizard's Chess and our Potions homework before bed?"

Harry smiles. This is the old Ron. "Yeah, sure!" Harry replies with enthusiasm that reveals his gratitude for the invitation.

"It's been too long since we last did this, hasn't it?" Ron says softly, aware of the significance of the moment.

"Much too long." Harry smiles.

They leave the Hall, arms around each other's shoulders. Some unexplainable barrier has been bypassed, subconscious acceptance given. Their relationship is richer for it.

…

Severus has drunk the equivalent of one large bottle of various shots of liqueurs, from Vodka to absinthe. He mixes his drinks with the blatant disregard of those who drink with a purpose in mind. He has debated with himself all evening over his self inflicted dilemma. Severus has resolved to be completely genuine in his confessions, after all it is he who has the power in the relationship.

His identity is secured in the vague terms and non specifics of the letters. _But Potter of all people! _He almost chokes on his martini olive. _Why Potter? _No doubt his life is enriched in drama and intrigue since he started the correspondence. The break from the painful monogamy that drove him to confession in the first place, had left him refreshed, more alive, and more self-indulgent than he had dared to be in years.

Fumbling for the parchment and quill on his nearby desk, his head spinning, he hastily scrawls out across the page a hasty confession, realized during the height of drunken clarity.

_I have never loved anyone_

_In my entire life._

_Affection made me vulnerable once in my youth,_

_And in nearly losing my life, I lost my faith in humanity._

…

_Yes… it always came back to Potter, one generation to the next. His sins are diluted silhouettes of his father's. James Potter. My first crush, my hardest learned lesson. _Severus's thoughts darted drunkenly around each other, like two swords masters in the dark, tied at the waist by a thick chord, taking tentative swipes into the darkness that was the reality of the situation. With a quick snap of his fingers he summons a house elf to deliver his letter to the owlry. Two shots of absinthe later, he passes out a few feet from the bed, engulfed in the black cotton embrace of alcohol.


	4. Development

**Hello all, here is the latest installment! Please, again, I beg you for your input and suggestions, as this is my first attempt at writing a full bodied story. Any comments on my character interaction? Do my dialogues in which Snape speaks sound Snape-ish enough? Any input is greatly welcome! Ok! Also, due to a few friends alluding to the desire for such, I'm going to start adding summaries before the new chapters, just the last paragraph of the last chapter to get you back in the mode! Enjoy and thanks again for reading, it's an honor. **

**Summary: **

_I have never loved any one_

_In my entire life._

_Affection made me venerable once in my youth,_

_And in nearly losing my life, I lost my faith in humanity._

…

_Yes…it always came back to Potter, one generation to the next. His sins are diluted silhouettes of his fathers. James Potter. My first crush, my hardest learned lesson. _Severus's thoughts darted drunkenly around each other, like two swords masters in the dark, tied at the waist by a thick chord, taking tentative swipes into the darkness that was the reality of the situation. With a quick snap of his fingers he summons a house elf to deliver his letter to the owlery. Two shots of absinthe later, he passes out a few feet from the bed, engulfed in the black cotton embrace of alcohol.

Chapter Four: Development

Harry cannot imagine a world with out love. Love is as much a part of his being as his arms or toes. It comes as naturally to him as breathing. He is fortunate, in that those he chooses to love invariably return the sentiment. As Harry rereads the confession, over and over again, the words become a litany of loneliness and isolation that Harry can barley comprehend, let alone identify with. The owl came to his window at nearly four in the morning, and he has lay awake on his bed, sheets over his face, ever since. He can smell the salty scent of his skin, the musky scent of his hair, on the surface of the sheets. He hears Ron mumble quietly in his sleep, and is further assured of his capacity to love unselfishly and wholeheartedly.

A question has grown inside Harry since he first read the confession. Indisputably he loves, and with all his heart, but who truly loves him? The group is small and select. He finds his mind trying to differentiate between those bound to him for his natural attributes, or those bound to him by his charisma and fame. Harry is naturally charismatic,…then again, so was Satan. He tricked a third of the stars and God's angels into insurrection. Out of all his loves, who is genuine? In a world full of deception, is there purity to be found? With these lonely thoughts sparring in his head Harry drifts off into a restless sleep.

…

"Harry, you're not looking well," Hermione states over her toast the next morning.

Harry smiles ruefully at her. "I've had a lot to think about lately," he replies evenly as he reaches for a blueberry muffin in a nearby tray. Ron giggles shrilly from behind the Quibbler he received in the mail that morning. The brittle sound of owl's wings made Harry recall that he had a confession to pen, and that he had intended to compose it before drifting off, but sleep for Harry has always been a uncompromising warden.

…

Severus is almost disappointed the next morning as he watches the owl's stream into the great hall like a great grey sail, and he realizes that he will not be receiving a letter. He nearly hexes himself for indulging in such sentimental behavior. Displeasure, he believes, can quickly accelerate into pouting. He steals a glance at Potter as he reaches for another strawberry from the cream filled dish in front of him. Severus, sensitive to the fickle variations of appearances prevalent in potions, notices immediately Harry's pallor, the dark rings around his eyes, and the way the edges of his cheeks protruded sharply from his face.

_Something is troubling the boy greatly._ He indulges briefly in the thought that it could be his confession. _Has my own sorrow compelled him to explore the cavernous realms of dark tattered thoughts? _Severus gives into his urge and smirks at the thought, but his lips freeze when he realizes that satisfaction isn't the sole emotion he is experiencing. Like a wine connoisseur trying to identify a vintage of an unknown wine, Severus finds himself rolling the emotion around on the palate of his mind. _Regret,_ he realizes. _This is what regrets feels like_. He shrugs away the thought quickly. Such emotions are not part of his character. He has defiantly misidentified it. Tossing his utensils aside, he hurries out of the Great Hall before his mind is polluted with such wasteful emotions a second time.

…

Harry can't concentrate in Potions today. This year he has been making efforts to be attentive in class, but the oppressive atmosphere in the dungeons and his definite lack of proximity to any other Gryffindor in the class leaves him listless and easily distracted. Stealthily, he snakes a hand into his satchel bringing out a sheet of parchment and his quill. Almost immediately Snape turns around from the potion he has been fussing over at the front of the room, to fix him in a glare that feels more physical than a simple facial expression should.

"Mr. Potter, I wasn't aware that reading pages 145 to 189 was a written assignment." Snape drawls.

"I'm taking notes, Professor." Harry replies, exasperated. "My memory is chock full right now and I need just a bit more enforcement than usual to make sure I have this."

"Mr. Potter, if your memory is insufficient to effectively retain forty-four pages, one might question how it could possibly recall almost every Quidditch strategy ever implicated on a moments notice. It seems to me that you should save your limited mental capacity for items of more pressing importance, such as passing this class."

Harry wants to let go. He simply wants to flop forward and let his head thunk against the wooden surface of the desk in exhaustion, but he doesn't. He simply shoves the quill and parchment back into his satchel and stares at the malicious book in front of him, attempting to fall asleep with his eyes open. The period passes slowly and when it finally ends, Harry had never been more grateful.

…

Severus is vegetating in the weekly staff meeting. Minerva is clucking ruefully over the upcoming sixth year trip to Diagon Alley to shop for Christmas presents. It was a tradition that had been at the school as long as the Annual Diagon Christmas Market. Sixth years had always had the privilege of going, as well as seventh years, who could legally get into bars, and therefore trouble. Contrastingly, fifth years and below, by law, could not travel fifty miles or more from the school without their parents during the school year.

The trip was to be that weekend, and many questions had been raised as to security measures. Three Auror escorts had to be arranged for Potter alone, not to mention his "entourage," as Severus termed Hermione, Ron, and Neville. Severus's head snapped up at the words, "And Professor Snape, if you would help escort Mr. Potter it would certainly be the best arrangement, as a teacher escorting a known troublemaker would hardly attract excessive attention," Albus said with a knowing smile and twinkle like a cat over cream in his eyes.

Severus half gags at the idea of leading Potter around by the nose all weekend while he shops for overpriced gifts for Severus's least favorite holiday.

"But Headmaster-" Severus sputters indignantly. He argues for the next half an hour to no avail. By the time he returns to his quarters, he is ready to get genuinely pissed, and with good cause. As he kicks open the door to his bed chamber, tosses his robe onto the bed and scuttles into the adjoining bathroom, he is struck by the overwhelming sensation that some thing is not quite right. Retreating slowly into his bedchamber he notices the tawny owl perched smugly on the corner of his night stand. Snatching the letter from the owl's outstretched leg, he tosses the offending creature out his window, not pausing to watch it soar indignantly off.

_I read Muggle poems, _

_Then copy them out and slip them_

_In between the pages of library_

_Books and return them_

_So that other people_

_Stumble upon them, and fall in love with them as I have. _

…

Harry falls asleep quickly, with a smile translucent as a bride's veil hovering over his lips.


	5. The Expedition Part A

**Hello all! This is going to be a very experimental chapter for me, there is a lot of dialogue involved, which I haven't used much yet, and I hope it works out realistically and naturally. I would like to say thank you to all my wonderful reviewers, and yet again, and suggestions or comments are completely welcome! Enjoy!**

**Summary: **Severus half gags at the idea of leading Potter around by the nose all weekend while he shops for overpriced gifts for Severus's least favorite holiday.

"But Headmaster-" Severus sputters indignantly. He argues for the next half an hour to no avail. By the time he returns to his quarters, he is ready to get genuinely pissed, and with good cause. As he kicks open the door to his bed chamber, tosses his robe onto the bed and scuttles into the adjoining bathroom, he is struck by the overwhelming sensation that some thing is not quite right. Retreating slowly into his bedchamber, he notices the tawny owl perched smugly on the corner of his night stand. Snatching the letter from the owls outstretched leg, he tosses the offending creature out his window, not pausing to watch it soar indignantly off.

_I read Muggle poems, _

_Then copy them out and slip them_

_In between the pages of library_

_Books and return them_

_So that other people_

_Stumble upon them, and fall in love with them as I have. _

Harry falls asleep quickly, with a smile translucent as a bride's veil hovering over his lips.

Chapter Five: The Expedition, Part A

The Great Hall had gone unusually silent. It was Saturday morning, the day of the sixth year expedition to the Diagon Ally Christmas Market. The Hall was charged with emotions that wafted across it like spiced breezes. The sixth years all had identical looks of anticipation and excitement plastered across their faces. The seventh years all were unusually quiet, reminiscing about their trip, and the first through fifth years all shared envious frowns. Albus tapped his wand against his wine glass for the second time to dispel the remaining whispers that flitted across the tables. When all was silent, he began the obligatory instructions for the proceedings of the trip.

"As you all know, today is the annual sixth year Christmas Market Expedition, which has been a tradition since the founding of our great school. This year, due to pressing threats to the students' security, chaperones will be instituted into this tradition. There is to be one chaperone per group of four students, so, before you leave the Great Hall, please form groups. Chaperones will be assigned to your group as you board the train. On the train ride, all of the chaperones wish their students to make lists of the presents they will need to buy, as time will be short, and dilly dallying will not be tolerated. Once you get off the train, and every group has its chaperone firmly within its ranks, you're free to roam about until midnight, at which time your group must be at the platform. The train will be arranged to accommodate bunks for sleeping, and by the time all of you wake up you will be back here at Hogwarts! So," Albus's eyes twinkled merrily, "Get to your groups!"

The Hall was filled with excited shouts, as sixth years in every house rushed to group off into sects. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville promptly agreed to group up and rushed to the doors of the Entrance Hall, eager to get a car of their own on the train. As they rushed down the long sweeping drive up to the castle, Hermione suddenly exclaimed, "Wait a tick! I'm willing to bet that 'heightened security' means we will get an Auror as our chaperone! I wonder if it will be Remus! Or Tonks!"

Harry brightened visibly at the prospect.

"That'll be awesome! Hey Ron, race you to the front gates!"

Ron chuckled and took off at full speed, calling out, "GO!" behind him to a very indignant Harry.

…

The boys were still panting as they stood in line to climb the ladder onto the train. Hermione was scolding them half heartedly about spraining their ankles, and Neville was trying unconvincingly to act as though he hadn't eagerly wanted to participate. As Harry swung himself up into the train, bypassing the steps in his eagerness, he came nose to nose with his very surprised Transfiguration teacher.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," she bleated weakly. "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid you're a separate case altogether. You will have your own chaperone for the day. Your friends, for security reasons, will have their own."

Harry gaped disbelievingly. "But that's not fair! Why do I have to have my own escort? Why can't I go with my friends?"

Minerva was not moved. "Mr. Potter," she replied imperiously, "You are lucky to be allowed to go on this trip at all, least of all question the special arrangements we have made for your safety. You will meet Professor Snape at the station, and I suggest you do not give him any trouble." With that, she pushed him into the compartment. His friends shortly burst in, and for a moment Harry was swamped in sympathetic condolences offered by his disappointed friends.

"...And Professor Snape! Of all the people you could get, you get HIM!" Ron exclaimed peevishly.

"Nah, Ron, this summer, I was thinking," Harry mused, "Snape, while a pain in the ass, is just someone I have to deal with, just like anyone else. I've got to stop being so damn immature about his insults."

"WHAT?" Ron, Hermione, and Neville exclaimed in unison.

"Well…" Harry stammered, "Listen, I've got to show everyone that I'm not some pliable little brat they can just instruct, and expect nothing but complacence! This is my chance! Professor Snape is the worst of them, and if I can get his respect, then, well, anything is possible."

"Harry…" Hermione began quietly, "I think we have all underestimated you…since that night-"

Harry grimaced and tried to cut her off but she waved her hands at him impatiently.

"No Harry, lets get this out. None of us have been the same since that night. We saw some one we love die, and Ron and I haven't given nearly the support you need right now. "

Harry smiled. "You guys are all I need, but if you're there, I'm not sure how I'm going to get through this."

Hermione began to cry quietly, and Ron sniffled stealthily behind his palm. They rushed to embrace him and Neville, sitting in the corner looked on in slight fright and awe at this display.

…

Severus was not enjoying this day. He had spent the entire train ride in brooding silence as the other teachers and Auror chaperones chatted merrily with one another, exchanging holiday pleasantries and sipping too-sweet cocoa.

He now stood, with the scent of mulled wine stuck stubbornly in his nostrils, waiting for his 'pen pal' (he gagged at the thought), better known as Harry Potter. He shoved his hands deeper into his soft woolen robes, and glanced up in time to catch a glimpse of Potter's messy raven hair as he hopped down from the train. The Weasley Brat whispered something in his ear, and Harry threw his head back, laughing heartily and unreservedly.

_Wait…HARRY! When is he Harry? He isn't Harry. He's Potter. Strictly Potter._ Severus mentally chastised himself, as he adjusted his shoulder so he could lean more comfortably again the platform wall. _Alright, I'm not going to be civil today. _Ever since he had experienced the slightest trace of regret the other morning, he had decided that civility was close enough to the common ground of tolerance at which the vast majority of his relationships were based.

Harry spotting him from across the platform gave a happy wave to his friends, and with the traces of his smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, began weaving his way through the crowd towards him. With his longer hair, and the angularity led by time to his face, Harry looked almost _handsome_ in the crisp morning air. Severus scowled inwardly. _God I'm getting all seasonally sentimental. God help me. _When Harry reached him and plastered on a tentative smile, Severus decided that one day of civility couldn't hurt.

"Do you have your list filled out?" He asked evenly.

Harry nodded eagerly and yanked the item in question out of his pocket, accidentally taking the lining out with it. Shoving the silk lining back in his coat, he opened his list and did a quick scan.

"Well Professor, the bookshop is close, and I need to pick up a book for Hermione. Is it ok if we head there first?"

Severus nodded amicably. "Yes Mr. Potter, it's perfectly 'Ok.' "

…

**Sorry to leave you hanging, but trust me, there will be tones of holiday fun and witty dialogue in the next chapter! You'll love it, trust me. :D**


	6. The Expedition Part B

**Hello all! I would just like to say, this is a nervous chapter for me. Firstly it's longer than what I'm used to writing. Secondly I'm trying to incorporate relationship development and dialog. And comments or suggestions are, as always, very very welcome. This chapter is dedicated to my official new beta Kei! Yay! **

**Summary: **"As you all know, today is the annual 6th year Christmas Market Expedition, which has been a tradition since the founding of our great school. This year, due to pressing threats to the student's security, chaperones will be instituted into this tradition. There is to be one chaperone per group of 4 students, so, before you leave the great hall, please pair off into groups before getting on the train, chaperones will be assigned to your group as you board the train."

"On the train ride, all of the chaperones wish their students to make lists of the presents they will need to buy, as time will be short, and dilly dallying will not be tolerated. Once you get off the train, and every group has its chaperone firmly with in its ranks, your free to roam about until midnight, upon which your group must be at the platform. The train will be arranged to accommodate bunks for sleeping, and by the time all of you wake up you will be back here at Hogwarts!"

New Writings:

…

As Harry pushed open the heavy oak door to Flourish and Botts Bookshop, he was immediately hit full in the face with the bitter scent of ink, and crisp new paper. He moved aside to allow Snape to enter, and then quickly closed the door of the shop against the flurry of snowy wind that buffeted the ally that morning. The shop was full of ear muffed students, all scouring the shelves, clumsily bumping into one another in their bulky clothing.

"Alright Potter, what are we getting?" Severus asked as he surveyed the jostling students with distaste.

"Well Professor, I was going to get Hermione a set of The Encyclopedia's of Magic. I figured they would be perfect for all the research she does."

Snape nodded slowly "I received a set the year I graduated. I still use them frequently today."

Harry smiled at the approval in his professor's voice. Moving off to secure a sales assistant in buying and packaging, he left Snape sulking by a display for 'Miranda Quigley's Guide to Magical Economics". As Harry wrote out a bank note for the books, he felt oddly elated. He was shopping, with Snape, and they were actually being civil to one another. The sales assistant carefully packaged the heavy books (32 in all) and bound them in colorful paper and spiraling ribbons. When they were all wrapped Harry was starting to wonder how on earth he was going to carry all of these around all day, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Move over Potter" Snape said gently. Waving his wand in a circular pattern he muttered "_fio vegrandi" _ And gestured at the package until it becomes the size of a small mobile phone.

"Wow thanks Professor!" Harry exclaims gratefully. Snape rolls his eyes impatiently.

"It's a shrinking charm Potter. Not a miracle." Harry drops the package into his pocket and they hurry out of the crowded shop.

The wind hit them full in the face as they emerged, stinging their faces like a thousand pinpricks.

"I'm heading into the Quidich Shop over there, for Ron." Harry said, gesturing to the shop, with a window crowded and foggy with the collected width and breath of dozens of little boys. Snape's upper lip went pale.

"I'll wait out here." He muttered leaning against the doorway sulkily.

…

Severus was being jostled from all sides by blasted adolescents. Using his cloak he cleared a small hole through the fog of the glass and peered in at Harry. The boy was being perfectly civil. Severus was shocked. Genuinely shocked. He was at the point in his life were few things shocked him, startled him, or exceeded his expectations. Harry was becoming an exception. As if feeling Severus's eyes on him, Harry turned suddenly and caught his eye.

And for some unexplainable reason Severus subconsciously smiled. It wasn't a large, teeth bearing, Polaroid snapshot of a smile. It was just a lift of the foreboding brows, a small tug at the corner of his stiff lips, and an overall lightening of his countenance. Harry dropped the small parcel he had carried to the register. Shaking his head slightly, he placed the box safely on the counter, then turned to gawk at Severus again. Severus had turned back by that time and was gazing across the street sullenly at the café across the way. _What on earth possessed me to do such a sentimental frivolous thing?_ If it hadn't been so undignified, Severus would have smacked his hand to his forehead. **_What came over me?_** Then Severus realized that he wasn't going crazy, he wasn't losing his self control. He had owed Harry a secret, and they were even now.

…

Harry was in a state of shock. In a brief moment all his perceptions of Snape changed. He had _smiled_ at him. He was past all eloquence, all subtly. It wasn't much of a smile, but for a brief moment, Snape wasn't the foreboding dungeon dwelling, insult hurling, monster. He was simply a man, and a handsome one at that. _Were did THAT come from? _Hearing a commotion behind him, he turned around and realized that he'd been standing with his hand on the door handle for the past three minutes.

Blushing, he yanked the door open and walked out into the snow. Snape turned to him, and Harry almost giggled when he saw that his potions masters' prominent nose was a rather dramatic shade of pink. Harry gestured to the café across the way.

"Do you want to get a coffee sir? Get out of the cold for a bit?"

Snape rolled his eyes dramatically. "Tired already Potter?" he countered snidely.

"No sir." Harry said stiffly. Apparently there were repercussions for the smile.

"What next?" Severus tartly replied.

"well, to tell you the truth sir, that's all I need here. The rest I'm getting at Hogsmead."

Severus's arched brows jerked up in disbelief. " Do you mean to tell me that we have until midnight until the train comes, and nothing to do?"

"Well sir that's why I was suggesting Coffee."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Fine."

…

If some one would have told Severus Snape two months ago that he would be sitting in a Café, drinking Cappuccino with Harry Potter, voluntarily he would have laughed in their face. But to his surprise, he found himself enjoying watching potter squirm under his intense gaze. The boy had grown up over the past summer. His boyish frame was still lithe and thin, but now there was a barley contained element of power and agility to it. His features had a new angular quality to them that was more reminiscent of his mother than his father. Severus came to the conclusion that over the summer, Harry had grown into…a very spare person. There was nothing excessive about him or his actions, except for the perpetual glow that lit his eyes.

The waiter soon bustled up to ask them if they wanted anything else. Severus, upon reflection on his recent almost sentimental thoughts, tersely ordered two brandies. Harry's eyebrows arched but he said nothing, simply added another packet of sugar to his cappuccino and stirred nervously, sloshing cream all over the rim. The waiter bustled back with the brandies setting one before Severus, and one before Harry. Harry glanced at the brandy suspiciously then at Severus. Severus had intended to down both himself, but decided Harry looked nervous enough, with out his snarky potions master snatching his drink away. Raising his glass to Harry he quickly tipped the amber liquid back all in one effective swallow. Harry raised his glass in return and tenitivly took a small sip.

Snape laughed throatily "my my Potter, they'll accuse me of corrupting you."

Harry smiled caustically "At least you're not beating me."

"I'll drink to that." Snape replied, with a quick gesture to the waiter.

…

Three hours latter, Harry and Snape walked quickly through the cold towards the train station. Harry felt like he was lit from within. The alcohol was like a symphony singing through his veins. He felt that he could read the hidden messages within the streetlights, the chorus in the volleys of snow that buffeted their faces. For a moment, his dead godfather, impeding doom, and slipping potions grade where miles away. A joyful laugh bubbled out of Harry, and he slipped his arm comradely through Snape's. Snape, though frowning, allowed it.

"Do you think any one will know were pissed?" Harry giggled.

"You're not to talk to any one. If any one asks what we did, we went from shop to shop and had a miserable time."

Raising his hand in a mock salute Harry resolutely replied "yes sir!"

…

When they had boarded the train, with out incident, Severus, quickly located their compartment. Their room had one bunk on either wall, with a little lamp and table, and a dividing curtain. Harry stood drunkenly leaning against the door, smiling innocently up at Severus.

"I'll take this bunk." Severus said tossing his cloak on the bed closest to the door.

"Okay sir!" Harry said, half collapsing on the remaining bunk.

Severus quickly drew the curtains, and sat on the springy bunk to remove his boots. As he sat back and slipped, fully clothed, under the covers the train began gently moving, rocking like ship at sea. He heard Harry giggling quietly on the other side of the thin curtain. Their conversation that night had been rather limited, as Harry had never before experienced the enlightening effects of alcohol, and Severus didn't trust himself to contain his words and thoughts around this waifish and oddly companionable apparition.

"Harry..?" Snape said silently across the expanse of the curtain.

"Yes sir?" Harry replied quietly.

"This was irresponsible and unforgivable of me…I propose that-"

Harry cut him off sharply. "I won't tell sir. Tonight, you and I, were just two people with allot on their minds."

"Potter I meant to say that I had realized this night how severely wrong I was in my prior judgment of you."

Silence proceeded for a few moments on either side of the red curtain, interrupted by the gentle swaying of the train.

"I think we've both misjudged each other. Goodnight sir."

And with that Harry blew out the lamp, and the room was shrouded in smoke scented darkness.

Though Harry fell asleep immediately, Severus wouldn't sleep all night, keeping a silent vigil on the door.


	7. The Morning After

**Hello all! Sorry I've been slow about posting, holiday break and all.  Thanks to my excellent beta, Kei who edited this for me even though she was sick. And also, thanks for all reviews, and comments, questions, flames, and scathing reviews are always welcome!**

…

1Harry awoke to the sounds of squealing horses that tore through his head like a knife through tissue paper. _Brakes, train brakes!_ his pounding head managed to register. Beside him on his bedside table was a steaming beaker full of a fragrant potion. Wafting the thick steam towards his nose, Harry immediately recognized the unmistakable scent of a Pepper-Up Potion. The sensation that seared his head now was similar to the pain that came after a full night in Voldemort's mind. With unsteady fingers, Harry grasped the bottle in both hands and tilted its contents into his parched throat. Relief was immediate. His head still ached distantly, but the edge had eroded from the sensation.

After a few moments, Harry climbed unsteadily to his feet, and tentatively pulled back the thick red curtain. As expected, Snape was not there. His bed had been neatly made and other than a vague outline of his head on the pillow, there was no trace of his ever having occupied the room. Harry sat down heavily on the bed where his professor had slept just the night before. Taking the pillow into his arms, he buried his head in the outline, inhaling deeply. Harry had been in a Muggle church once during one of his trips with the Dursleys to a business event in London, and, as Harry inhaled, the scent of the church came back to him. The smell of incense that haunted the air between the pews, the waxy scent of polished wood, and the bitter solitary scent of marble. His Potions Professor smelled like a cathedral.

Harry sat there, his head buried in the pillow, trying desperately to remember the specifics of the night before. The events of the night blended in his mind's eye like a kaleidoscope. Sitting across from Snape, staring solemnly at each other over the rims of their glasses, the silence had seemed so pure, so natural. Speech that night had seemed to be a diluted, desecrated form of silence.

The air between them had been warm and as thick as the burgundy liquid in their glasses. Snape's profile lit by the soft light of the fire that blazed nearby struck Harry for the first time as not as overly robust, but strong and formidable, and the elegance of his arched eyebrows and aristocratic cheekbones had, with the enlightening assistance of brandy, become absurdly attractive to Harry. The sound of the compartment door opening cut through the cathedral scent of the pillow like a spoon against teeth. Harry jerked his head abruptly up, to see a very bemused Potions professor standing in the doorway.

…

Severus yanked open the compartment door expecting to find his hung over charge sleeping soundly. Instead, he saw the waifish youth curled up in his own carefully made bed, with his face buried in his pillow. Harry jerked upright, his hair standing up at odd angles, and gaped, fish-like at Severus. Severus always recovered well from shocks.

"Mr. Potter, you've hopefully noticed the train is at Hogwarts. Gather your purchases quickly-the carriages leave in ten minuets. Unless I am mistaken, your fan club has saved you a seat in their carriage near the left of the platform."

Tossing the pillow aside with guilty haste, Harry practically leapt over to his cot and began folding the sheets.

"Right then sir. I'll hurry."

Severus turned and was halfway out the door, when Harry blurted out abruptly,

"Thank you for the potion sir, it worked brilliantly"

Severus kept walking, pretending he hadn't heard.

"So Harry, was it horrible? Give us all the gory details!" Ron said around the large bite of toast he had just taken.

Harry looked quickly around the Great Hall and, satisfied everyone nearby was busy with their respective breakfasts, scooted his chair closer to his friends.

"To tell you the truth, it was god-awful! I tried so hard to be nice and civil, but he was just a jerk the whole time! I had to drag him from store to store until midnight because he wouldn't even let me get dinner!"

Hermione shrugged. "I guess some things take time to change Harry. I mean, think about it! He's hated you since before you even attended Hogwarts. One day of you being civil is just a drop in the ocean."

Ron shrugged. "But Hermione," he interjected, "It's _Christmas!_ How can you feel mean while shopping for Christmas? That's a heart of stone!"

Hermione giggled "I don't know Ron, even Remus was getting a little vexed when you couldn't decided whether to get my mum red potholders or green."

Ron rolled his eyes. " I don't know what Muggles like! It only just occurred to me to buy her something from Harry and I!"

Harry smirked over the rim of his orange juice, watching his two friends flirt with the dispassion of those who believe in love, just not for themselves.

…

Severus was watching Potter slyly between bites of his Eggs Florentine. He felt almost certain Potter wouldn't give away their bout of drinking. He watched Harry as the boy regarded his friends over the edge of his glass; he remembered the expression from the night before. The way his eyes narrowed and expanded with his thoughts, and how his long lashes brushes against the rim of his glass. _What HAPPENED this morning?_ Severus grimaced. Harry had been burrowed in his pillow, and, though Severus was no expert, appeared to be smelling it. _Why on earth would that insufferable brat want to smell ME? _

Severus's mind raced back to the moment the night before when Harry had slipped his arm into his own. _No. No Severus. Don't think about this. _He told himself._ It's been a long time, but even I know what that flutter in my stomach meant. _The clatter of Minerva's fork against her plate distracted Severus briefly enough to allow him to take notice of the owls that had just rushed into the Great Hall with that familiar chorus of wings.

Severus started as the tawny brown owl dropped a letter into his glass of water. Casting a baleful glance at the fleeting winged form, Severus quickly yanked the letter out of the glass and cast a mumbled drying charm.

_This weekend, I got shamelessly_

_Drunk and enjoyed every_

_Minute of it. I have to _

_Tell my friends it was _

_Torture because_

_They'd never understand. _

Severus chuckled ruefully. _Every minute of it?_ His mind ran the phrase over and over like a liturgy. Wishing he could conjure up a cognac with out attracting undue attention, Severus mentally steeled himself against his recent romantic thoughts. He felt as though he had let his guard down too far, and that Potter, though well meaning, might well take advantage of his little indiscretion. _I'll have to be more ambivalent than ever to the boy._ Severus decided. _In the spirit of self preservation of course. Not embarrassment. And certainly not out of awkwardness or anticipation. _

Harry sat in potions, nerves causing his quill to tremble to the point that his writing became illegible, forcing him to cast the inadequate devise aside in disgust. Snape hadn't looked at him once during the entire class. On any given day, Harry could usually expect at least three hate fueled glares, and a bare minimum of four snide comments. Today Snape had avoided his seat as if it had been the site of a recent plague outbreak. Harry told himself he didn't care. That he had expected this. But there was hollowness in the pit of his stomach, that neither the security of routine, nor the habit of social graces could vanquish. The period passed in an icy wave for Harry. His mind raced back to the moment when Snape had opened that door, and the grimace he had given when he saw Harry embracing his pillow. It had seemed so silly at first, almost quaint, but now it left Harry empty and numb. The last thing he had expected was to be ignored.

…

"Harry, pass that astronomy chart." Hermione mumbled over her pile of homework later that night in the common room.

Harry duly grabbed the chart and tossed it over the mound of paper that Hermione and Ron were hunkered down behind.

He could hear them giggling mischievously, mockingly almost.

Slamming his Transfiguration book shut abruptly, he tossed it into his pile of homework and marched up the stairs blankly.

"What's eating him?" he heard Ron whisper.

Harry didn't wait for Hermione's reply before he slammed the door of the dormitory shut. He yanked the curtains of his bed violently aside, and jumped bodily into bed. As Harry kicked off his shoes, he noticed for the first time the letter on the window sill. The window was slightly ajar, and a crisp snowy breeze caused the candle by his bedside to flicker rapidly. Ripping the letter open, he devoured its contents ravenously.

_We play the roles we are given,_

_And regrettably, I fear,_

_I have played mine all to well._

_HA!_ Harry thought. _Tell me about it. Try being the savior of the world sometime. _Sitting cross-legged on his lonely bed, in an empty dormitory, Harry felt a hollowness pervade his spirit.


	8. Confrontation

1The next day passed quickly for Harry. His first classes were muted in his mind by the fuzzy hollow of insomnia. He hadn't slept the night before, and had instead lay awake staring at the canopy of his bed. He had lay awake long past the time when the door to the dorm groaned open and he heard Ron slip quietly into his bed. Some time around dawn, Harry had slipped on his robe and climbed into the marble sill of the window beside his bed. Through the panes of glass, Harry watched as snowflakes fell on the school grounds coating the campus in cleansing white. Harry found his thoughts drifting toward his friends. Harry knew he had become more introverted and irritable since Sirius's death, and that his friends had born the brunt of his moods. Despite that, one couldn't ignore that they, instead of coming forward in his hour of need, had shrunk back, confused by the bitterness that had begun to invade Harry's once solely optimistic spirit. There was a darkness beginning to grow in Harry that they were all quick to identify and attribute. Everyone has disappointed a loved one, everyone has let someone they care about down, and as a result, everyone has wallowed in self-indulgent despair, though the length and potency of this despair, like the human word, varies in strength. Harry bore this despair like an emblem across his broadening chest.

Transfiguration ended abruptly as the bell sounded and dozens of pink doves were promptly turned back into red roses and placed on a vase on McGonagall's desk. Hermione waved to Harry from her desk with Ron and pointed at the door. Harry nodded, and languidly dropped his books and parchment into his satchel. When Harry walked quickly across the classroom and out into the corridor, he felt suddenly comforted by the routine, that is, until he walked into the corridor to find Hermione leaning against a damp castle wall with Ron nibbling at her slender neck.

"Good Lord!" Harry shrieked.

Ron and Hermione separated from one another very quickly and guiltily.

"It's bad enough when you two go at it behind books and parchment like the entire common room can't hear, but now, in the bloody corridors...!"

The two shrunk back, grimacing at Harry's acerbic tone.

"Harry, mate," Ron began defensively. "Settle down! Look, I can understand you not liking to see us snogging!"

Hermione arched a canny eyebrow, "In fact Harry," she quipped through her blushing cheeks, "I'm surprised you haven't indulged in similar…exploits." Harry drew up indignantly.

"Yeah, Harry," Ron interjected "We never see you with anyone! Have you even snogged anyone before?"

Harry gaped incredulously at Ron.

"I'll have you know, Ron, that just because I've never dated anyone doesn't mean that I've never snogged anyone!"

Hermione set her little hand on his arm "Harry, Ron does have a point: you're old Harry, you're sixteen and you've never even had a girlfriend! Maybe it's not that we bother you, so much as the idea bothers you." She said a little gruffly.

A voice in his head told Harry that now was the time to confess. By God, if he could confess to a perfect stranger, he really should tell his friends. But as they looked at him so defensively, Harry felt his nerve slip away like sand through his fingers.

"Look guys, just don't throw it in everyone's faces so much. Let's just go to lunch," Harry said, in a quiet voice of resignation.

Hermione turned to Ron, and Ron shrugged briefly. They all walked into the Hall together, laughing at some comment of Ron's about the state of Draco's now shoulder length hair. Draco, since the events at the Ministry, had become exceedingly quiet and pale. Crabbe and Goyle had been rumored to be attending Durmstrang this year, and without his minions, Draco's sarcasm had become as limp and flaccid as his pale hair.

Harry took his seat across from Hermione and Ron, trying to avoid glancing at their hands that where obviously joined beneath the table.

Everyone was startled when Dumbledore tapped his knife against his glass for silence. Curiosity fueled the silence that fell over the crowd rapidly.

"As I'm sure you're all aware," Dumbledore began indulgently, "Christmas is only four days away!"

There was scattered applause and cheering at that.

"This year, the staff feels that due to the dark events that have recently befallen us," everyone turned to look at Harry, "That the students need an opportunity to boost their morale and forge bonds more closely together between the houses. Therefore, the staff has decided to host our first official Christmas Banquet. It will be this week, on Sunday, here in the Great Hall. Dress robes should be worn, and a great feast will be given. After dinner there will be dancing and an exchange of gifts. Each student in each house is to give a student in a separate house a Christmas present. A very bright young student informed me of this Muggle tradition, and I believe it will be great fun to incorporate it into our festivities."

With a rustling sound that scraped across the hall, a small slip of parchment appeared beside every dinner's plate.

"On the parchment that has been provided for you, there is a name, you will buy a small yet thoughtful present for that person. But," Dumbledore's eyes gleamed "This is the best part," he mumbled quietly to Snape who grimaced at his side, "You are not to tell the person whose name is on your list that you are to be their gift giver! On the night of the Banquet you will find that person and give them their gift!"

The Wizarding population of the Hall stared at Dumbledore blankly. From the Ravenclaw table a small first year Muggle boy shouted, "Like Secret Santas, right?"

Dumbledore grinned merrily over his spectacles and, with exaggerated nodding, he announced, "Yes, exactly! On Saturday there will be a trip to Hogsmeade for all houses, and you will have time to purchase gifts and dress robes if they are needed! Merry Christmas!"

After this profound announcement the Hall was swarming with the collected murmurings of all the houses, like a beehive in spring.

"Who'd you get Ron?" Harry asked, warily observing his slip of parchment that lay in a nonthreatening manner against his pumpkin juice.

He heard a groan from Ron and looked sharply up. Ron was gaping at his paper in incredulous disbelief.

Harry giggled as he took a dip drought of pumpkin juice.

"I got Malfoy" Ron announced, his words dripping with animosity.

Harry half spit his juice out as he began to laugh maliciously. "Brilliant mate!" he said through his giggles.

"Oh god" Hermione groaned "I got Pansy!"

Harry was holding his stomach now, it hurt so much from laughing.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other in sympathy, then Hermione with a sly look quickly snatched Harry's paper up and yanked it open.

A shriek of disbelief came from Hermione, then a gasp from Ron as he leaned over her shoulder. Harry quickly snatched the paper away, steeled by their evil smiles.

In Dumbledore's neat delicate script Harry read the condemning words "Professor Severus Snape" He involuntarily turned to gape at Dumbledore, and the sly twinkle in the old man's eye confirmed what Harry had already suspected: Dumbledore knew. Picking up what remained of his pumpkin juice, Harry raised his glass in silent toast to the cunning old man.

…

Snape stalked around the outer cauldrons of his sixth year Potions class, coolly observing the color and consistency of his students' potions. From the quickest glance he could tell which would turn out a complete disaster, and which would be acceptable. He had been in a rage the whole morning, over Albus and his absurd "Secret Santa" business. And to insist the staff had to participate was bad enough, but then to assign him to buy Potter of all people a gift, that was just spiteful. Albus was plotting again, somehow that batty old man could innately tell that something had passed between himself and the boy. He might not be able to identify its root or circumstance, but something had occurred, and that was all the motivation Albus needed to engage his little fanciful plots.

Harry was stirring furiously at his Draught of Joy, when the instructions specifically said to gently blend the ingredients together using only the lightest of strokes. Though easily distracted and not much good at following directions, Severus had never witnessed the boy deliberately sabotaging a potion. Glancing at the youth from beneath his long lashes, Severus panicked as he saw the boy toss in a handful of spotted hemlock. Severus immediately ducked, guessing what was coming. A loud explosion followed his quick action, and many students dropped to the floor with pale faces and wide eyes.

Harry stood there, his hair standing up at odd angles, and glanced slyly at Severus. Severus, grasping at the leg of a nearby table, pulled himself unsteadily up and shouted with an almost animal howl "EVERYONE OUT! OUT! OUT!" The students, all unharmed and shaken, quickly obeyed his commands that echoed off the walls like bullets. Potter simply stood there, ladle still in hand, and tried his best to look guilty. Severus felt a great rage building in his chest as he stood there across from the grinning boy. He could feel the blood rushing through his temples at rapid intervals. In four brisk paces he traversed the length of the class room and slammed the door with such force splinters of wood flew out from the frame.

Taking two large strides he drew himself up so close to Potter, the buttons of their robes brushed. "Mr. Potter," he began in a calm voice, "What on earth did you intend with that display?"

Harry looked up at him, his emerald eyes searing into Severus's. "You have _always_ treated me just as you treat everyone else. In fact, you've treated me worse than you've treated everyone else. Everyone I know and even people I don't know all have preconceptions of me, all admire me even though they've never met me. You've never let me take advantage of that. I won't lose that refuge. " Harry said, his voice trembling and betraying.

"Your telling me that you just put thirty-two students at mortal risk, because you simply wanted my attention? Does your arrogance know no bounds?" He whispered menacingly.

"The explosion was contained, sir! It could hardly have hurt anyone, even myself. It only occurred to me when I saw the spotted hemlock…" Harry mumbled defensively.

Severus felt his anger so acutely, so powerfully, and with such passion he briefly lost control of his senses. Rage enveloped his mind like a cloak about the body. He wanted to illustrate his fury through flesh and blood, through physical contact, wanted his words to become flesh. Grasping the bewildered Potter by the shoulders, Snape slammed him into the dungeon wall. Harry gave a little whimper, and grabbed onto Severus's arm, throwing him off balance, which resulted in Snape pushing the boy roughly against the wall. There was a time-stopping crack of the boy's head against the stone that collided with the sickening sound of dropped school books.

"You are so arrogant that you would risk the safety of your friends and classmates for my recognition? For a few snide comments? I have-" Severus stopped yelling. The boy's eyes were closed lightly as if in sleep. His petal pink lips were slightly open and his long neck hung awkwardly resting against Severus's supporting hand. The boy had lost consciousness. Severus gathered him quickly into his arms, supporting his limp head with one arm, and his muscled legs with the other. His heart raced in panic. He had just struck down the world's savior. He had maimed Harry Potter. As far as Severus could remember, this was the first time he had physically attacked anyone, specifically a student. He gathered Harry's limp form more closely to his chest, burying his face in Harry's soft raven hair. The boy smelt the way an old well smells, the aquamarine scent of water resided about his temples, the mineral scent of stone gathered at the base of his neck. Severus shook himself. He was losing concentration. The boy's actions had flattered his ego far too much, and he was taking liberties he wouldn't have dreamed of months before. Quickly, he shuffled through his office that adjoined the class room, and into his private chambers which were linked by a sliding bookshelf. He lay Harry down in his favorite armchair and went to go wet a cloth with cool water, his hands trembling like autumn leaves with anxiety.

…

Harry was aware of his head resting against a very accommodating surface, and the tinkle of ice against glass. He could hear the cracking sound of a fire, and the scent of vast stone clad spaces filled his nostrils. Some base instinct told him not to move, that if he opened his eyes or shifted unnecessarily, he would be very unhappy. He felt a cool cloth being pressed against the side of his face, and when it came into contact with his temple, he jerked his head back involuntarily at the pain. His eyes flew open in surprise, and he looked up to find himself lying against the side of his Potions Master's warm chest. Harry, disoriented, sat unsteadily up. He was in a large room with a high ceiling, white plain walls and almost completely surrounded by bookcases filled with antique, imposing volumes. The rafters of the roof were bare dark wood that looked oddly Bavarian against the whitewashed walls. The floor was covered with glowing Persian carpets that radiated, gem-like, from the ground.

"Where am I?" he mumbled, his hand straying up to his bruised cheek as pain coursed through it like molten lead.

Severus sat up abruptly snatching his drink from the table and taking a deep draught.

"You're in my private chambers. You lost consciousness."

"You pushed me." Harry stated blandly, with no trace of anger or resentment.

Severus grunted and moved languidly across the room. Harry followed his teacher's slender figure across the room, and, for the first time, taking in that his teacher was not dressed in his traditional school robes. He was clothed in well-tailored ebony silk robes that tied across his thin waist elegantly and were adorned with a high collar that accentuated the elegant long neck that protruded from it. Shaking his head Harry grimaced. _He must have shaken me harder than I thought. _

Harry started in surprise when Snape set a large glass of scotch down in front of him.

Taking a sip, he found the beverage to be smoky, and vaguely reminiscent of shadowed forests with solitary beacons of sunlight peaking through the branches. Leaning back against the comfortable sofa, Harry rested his head against a nearby pillow and examined his Potions professor through his lashes.

The man looked more strained than usual. His face was white as the snow outside and his lips were drawn into a thin line. He nervously swished his scotch and ice around in his glass as he stared pensively into the fire.

Harry couldn't summon any resentment for the man, though he tried desperately. He had deserved a firm reprimand for his actions. He couldn't believe what had come over him in class earlier. The opportunity presented itself, and Harry had decided in that brief instant that this course of action would draw him further into this strange web that his professor had been weaving about him since the day of the trip. With blatant disregard for his fellow students, he had followed his baser instincts.

Harry took a deep draught of scotch, feeling the symphony again rush into his veins, giving him a confidence he would have never had otherwise.

The blood from his temple had run into his eye, matting his eyelashes. Harry pressed his hand lightly to the wound and, feeling the sharp stab of pain, he pressed harder. It cut through the alcohol haze.

Snape was sitting in a burgundy armchair to his left, a small inlayed coffee table separating them; their drinks left little ghost rings on its polished surface.

"Can you die in peace now?" Harry asked gravely.

Snape's brows shot up.

"Mr. Potter, your impertinence had better be justified."

Harry smirked. "It's hardly impertinence, I'm sure that cracking my skull open was at the top of your 'things to do before I die' list…"

Snape sneered menacingly. "Mr. Potter," he intoned, "You were always one for exaggeration. Your hollow little scull is simply bruised with a slight flesh wound from the abrasive stone of the dungeon wall. Don't make a martyr of yourself yet."

Harry shrugged casually, settling deeper into the cushions of the couch. His spine felt out of alignment. "I've never had to bother to _make_ a martyr of myself, sir. Regrettably, I was born one."

Severus acknowledged the point with a slight tip of his glass in Harry's direction.

"You'll have to go to Pomfrey for that." Snape commented, gesturing in the direction of Harry's face.

Harry shrugged, "Do you have a mirror? Some times it's easier just to go to Hermione for a charm than have that medicinal carrion hovering over me."

Severus gestured to an oak door at the side of the room. "Through the bedroom, it's the door on the left."

"Right." Harry said, struggling to his feet. He padded along the carpet to the door, feeling Snape's eyes burning into his back. He opened the heavy door, and just when he stepped in, he heard Snape shout, "And Potter, DON'T touch anything."

Rolling his eyes, Harry stepped into his Potions professors' small bedchamber. The walls were the same washed white as the living room, complete with dark rafters reaching high up to the tall ceiling, but there the similarities stopped. In the center of the room there was a dark, rose wood four poster bed with a silk deep ocean blue comforter, complete with heaps of gold embroidered pillows. A long dresser took up one wall, of the same warm wood as the bed, complimented by more glowing Persian carpets. Along the other wall was a large wardrobe, ancient looking-with ornate carvings of foliage and flowers.

This was not what Harry expected. He walked stealthily up to the bed (it was high, reaching to his hips: he would have had to jump to get into it.) and ran his hand over the silky cold surface of the comforter, thinking how perfectly the understated elegance of the room suited his professor. Noticing an open door to the right of the bed, he crept across the carpet, and into stark white bathroom. Every thing was made of flawless white marble, flecked with tiny quarts chips causing it to glitter in the light of the candles overhead. There was a large bathtub with seven different taps, and large smooth steps leading to its sunken rim. Against one pale wall there was a counter and sink, with gold handles on the faucet. Harry walked over to the gold framed mirror on the wall atop the counter, and grimaced.

His hair was plastered to the blood around his temple, and his face was so pale he could see vague outline of the veins in his cheeks. Harry turned on the tap, to high, until steam rose from the bowl of the sink. Dunking his head into the hot stream, he ran his hands over the wound, washing the blood away from his face and hair. The waters sting was almost equivalent to the _Crucio_. Shaking his hair gently, Harry turned off the tap, and grabbed a near by towel, drying his hair and his pale face.

Tossing the towel next to the sink, Harry walked briskly back through the bed chamber and sat heavily back onto the couch with a dull thud.

…

Severus starred at Harry Potter intently. His face was flushed from the heat of the water he had apparently dunked his head into, and tiny drops of water clung to his eyelashes.

"Don't think of blackmailing me with this, Potter. I've got a little collection of your sins hidden away for a rainy day." Severus snapped as the boy took another sip of his scotch. Now was as good a time as any to reveal their correspondence.

The boy looked slightly affronted.

"The Polyjuice thing was a one time affair!" Harry countered indignantly. "If we could have bought the ingredients, we would have!"

Severus grimaced. "What 'Polyjuice thing,' Potter?" he spat.

Harry-caught off guard grabbed his drink and pretended to be very intent on finishing it in one gulp.

Severus rolled his eyes. He hated repeating himself. "Explain to me the nature of this escapade, Potter." He said with deliberate slowness.

"You don't KNOW about it already?" Harry said, genuine shock coloring the edges of his consonants.

Severus scowled and rolled his eyes. "No, Potter, I do not."

"Um…"Harry said, casting his eyes desperately about for a distraction. "It was during third year…" Harry began, stalling, fingering the edges of his crystal glass…crystal glass! Suddenly the boy apparently 'dropped' the glass onto the hard floor it shattered with a musical tinkle and ice cubes bounced across the Persian carpets.

Severus, mumbling expletives waved his wand at the glass, and it sprang, repaired, ice cubes and all, back onto the coffee table.

"Very well Potter, if you've resorted to breaking my crystal in an effort not to tell me, we'll leave it at that. I'm rather fond of the scotch glasses…" He intoned, casting a pointed glance at Harry's temple.

"Right, Professor," Harry said, standing to go.

"Go see Pomfrey immediately Potter, you're bleeding again. Tell her whatever lame-brained excuse you use whenever your escapades go awry." Severus stood, leading Harry lightly by the elbow towards the door.

Harry smiled and quipped, "I'll tell her I fell down the stairs."

Severus raised his brows disbelievingly "She actually buys that idiotic excuse?"

Harry opened the door to the office, then the class room and smiled.

"Professor, you forget, I'm a martyr, and we're not really known for our deceit and cunning." Harry said with a wink as he slid out the door.


	9. Cigarettes and Shopping

1Chapter Nine: Cigarettes and Shopping

After leaving Snape's chambers, Harry doesn't go to Madame Pomfrey; he doesn't go back to his dormitory. Rather, he climbs the steps of the Astronomy Tower until his calves burn in protest. The walls are cold from the night air, the air is scented by the snow that surrounds the tower, and his breath causes a vague fog around his face. Except for his gasping breath and heavy footfalls, the tower is completely silent. When Harry reaches the top, he roughly shoves open the trap door and climbs onto the observation garret. Telescopes and sextants stand along the walls of the garret, covered with a light coating of snow, like cushioned sentries. Leaning against the waist-high railing that separates the edge of the parapet from a nasty plummet, Harry digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a package of smokes and a lighter. Taking out a thin cigarette and lighting it with the efficiency of a practiced smoker, he inhales deeply from it, then leans back into the icy railing, feeling the coldness of the metal through his robes.

It was a nasty Muggle habit he had picked up that summer from Dudley who now insisted on smoking in the house constantly (a habit encouraged for its masculinity by Vernon). Harry had a whole box of cigarette packages stowed in his trunk. Every one of them had that little scull and crossbones warning sticker, "...death or serious health related issues may occur." _If they could label people with these damn things, life would be so much easier, _Harry thinks sourly. Inhaling again, his own hypocrisy strikes him: _Then again, they label these things clearly enough and I'm still happily addicted. _Shrugging, he takes a long drag and tosses the glowing filter over the railing. It spirals toward the ground like a drunken firefly.

…

The next morning, Harry was halfway through his scrambled eggs when a small piece of parchment landed obtrusively in them. Ron looked up curiously, and through his mouthful of bacon he sputtered, "Who's that from mate? You've been getting lots of mail lately!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly his long hair slipping into his face, exposing his bruised temple.

Hermione gasped audibly.

"What on earth happened to you, Harry? What is that?"

Ron half-choked on his orange juice and slammed his glace down mumbling something that spurted little flecks of juice and sounded vaguely like "Damn."

Harry's hand flew to his temple. He knew this would happen. He had planned to glamour it that morning, but…that morning when he looked in his bathroom mirror, through the little ring he had made with the heel of his hand through the shower-fog, he couldn't bring himself to cover it. He couldn't directly state why this was one scar he could abide, why he was almost proud of it…proof: it wasn't the right word, but it would do.

"Last night," Harry said, pretending to be ashamed and embarrassed, "I went out for a walk and tripped-hit my head. It hurt like a bitch." He shrugged.

Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Why didn't you just go to Madame Pomfrey?"

Ron groaned. "You KNOW how she fusses over Harry."

Harry nodded eagerly in agreement, slyly slipping the letter into his robe pocket. Hermione though, never missed much; her sharp eyes stared fixedly on his hands.

Harry squirmed. "Hogsmeade trip today!" He said with false enthusiasm.

Ron giggled. "Yeah…I'm sure I'll find the most _perfect_ present for Draco-- how about a high end Magic Hair wand! " he said, shoving more strips of bacon into his mouth.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think I'll get Pansy a big box of Blood Lollies. She always seems desperately bloodthirsty to me."

Harry raised his glass in a toast. "To purposeful gifts," he intoned gravely.

Ron raised his glass in reply and as their glasses almost touched, Ron yanked his away abruptly.

"Ah, but wait Harry," he said with a smirk, "What ARE you getting Snape?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I could go to the Muggle pharmacy and get him a year's supply of Prozac, do the entire school a favor." He quipped.

Ron and Hermione laughed heartily, sneaking little glances at the others' face.

…

While Ron and Hermione ran up to the common room to grab coats and scarves, Harry stayed behind, coat already in hand, and when the dining table was almost empty, took out the letter and slit open the plain wax seal. The familiar flow of his correspondent's script greeted him like an old friend.

_I secretly love the idea of _

_Secret Santa._

_That way, one way or_

_Another, I'm sure to get_

_A present. Even if someone is_

_Forced to care. _

The words weighed like lead in Harry's stomach. He imagined his loveless, lonely friend, and was infinitely depressed. The idea of mandatory caring-- being a ray of hope in someone's life, was pathetic, and compelling. He thought of his remark, made just minutes ago in jest, and resolved that his present wouldn't be that way. His correspondent could have been anyone; there were probably hundreds of lonely students out there, each hoping for someone to care. Harry was resolved to at least brighten one person's life. Even if that person was…rather sensitive to light of any sort. A sort of compassion toward the human race had enveloped him, and, for once, feeling like a savior wasn't so much of a burden as before.

…

In Hogsmeade, Severus watched Harry from a small coffee shop across the street. The snow on his cloak and boots was melting into a little puddle around his feet. Dumbledore had insisted that since Snape had done such a decent job supervising Harry at Diagon Ally, he must watch over him in Hogsmeade. Severus was thoroughly annoyed. The boy had roamed all over the small town, moving languidly through the snow from store to store, forcing Severus to skitter from alley to alley and store to store to observe him without alerting his presence.

The little waitress from the coffee shop had come over to him and was attempting to mop up the puddle of snow around his feet when Harry emerged from the bookshop with several parcels in hand. The snow blew the boy's jaw length hair back, exposing his pale face. Somehow, over the past summer, Harry's face had taken on a strange and unique beauty. His delicate features had grown further apart, more symmetrical and angular, his eyes had become more distinctive and somehow the sadness that now tinted them lent them a startling intensity, and his limbs had grown longer, his arms once thin and reedy now had shadows of muscles down their lengths. He had innately adapted to his changed body, and endowed it with a subtle grace, a certain languid elegance about his movements. He moved more slowly now than other people, with more deliberation.

Apparently, however, he did not move slowly enough. Harry had left Severus lost in his thoughts and had turned onto a small side street. Severus pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and pushed the little door open against the snowy wind. Walking briskly through the snow with the chill cutting through his thick clothing like a knife, Snape suddenly heard on the wind the flap of wings. Looking up, he saw the little tawny owl that was the herald of a new letter. Harry had been quick to reply. The owl landed clumsily at his feet, and, without breaking his stride, Severus snatched up the letter and turned down the side street Harry had taken. He shoved the letter deep in his pocket and continued looking for Harry in the small shops that lined the street. The Cobblers, Knit Wears, Magical Kitchen Devices, then, suddenly, on the small space of wall between Fine Liquors Co. and Old World Antiques, Severus spotted Harry leaning casually. His packages rested at his feet, and he was lighting a Muggle cigarette. Severus visibly flinched when Harry's piercing eyes locked with his own. They stood staring at each other like that for a moment, sparks flowing from gaze to gaze, till Harry lifted the cigarette and took a small drag, blowing the smoke toward Severus through lowered lids staring through his long eyelashes.

…

Harry had taken a rest from his intense shopping. He had found presents for most of his teachers, and a majority of Ron's siblings. Leaning against a wall outside of the liquor shop he had just patronized, Harry took out a cigarette, his first that day. After shielding the lighter from the intense breeze, he lit up and took a long drag. As he glanced up, the polished black shoes of his Potions professor came into view on the cobblestones in front of him. He raised his gaze slowly, until he met Severus's dark eyes. The man looked exhausted: his prominent cheek bones protruded gauntly from his face and his rose tinted lips were chapped from the rough wind. The man's hair blew loosely around his face, softening his features.

Harry suppressed a small smirk and took another drag from his cigarette, boldly directing the smoke toward his shocked professor. Their eyes met again, and Harry was fascinated by the dark depth of the older man's eyes, the thickness of the lashes that contoured his eyes like the black liner he sometimes saw on women. He tossed the cigarette casually aside and pushed himself off the wall, taking slow, rolling steps toward his professor.

"Sir, I take it you were assigned to make sure I didn't get myself killed again?" Harry said with deliberate slowness, still advancing on his professor.

Snape nodded in assent, then gestured toward the spot where Harry had tossed the rest of the cigarette.

"What is it Muggles are always saying, Potter? That those things will kill you?"

Harry shrugged gracefully. "I highly doubt, Professor," he said with a wry smile, "That I'll live long enough for them to be a problem."

Snape smiled wryly, noting that Harry was now directly in front of him. Snape divined for the first time that Harry was half frozen by the slight trembling of his lips, and the little snowflakes that clung to his long lashes. Slowly, ever so carefully, Snape lifted his hand to Harry's temple running his thumb along the angry red scar.

"You could have easily glamoured this." He stated softly.

Harry smiled with the corner of his mouth. "It's not in my nature to hide my scars, if you haven't noticed." He stated briefly, leaning into his professor's touch.

Harry was secretly terrified. Being this close to Snape was like getting to touch the Mona Lisa, or climb to the top of a pyramid: thrilling in its rarity. Harry noticed Severus's obliging attitude, and his closeness had an effect on the older man. Snape was blushing lightly, his only indication of reaction.

Harry let his eyes roam over the other man's before turning languidly away, gathering his purchases, and moving briskly down the street toward the Three Broomsticks, where he was scheduled to meet Ron and Hermione. The moment was broken, but not the spell that had been cast by it.

Looking back in his mind's eye, Harry saw Snape, one hand still extended, the other in his pocket, watching him from the middle of the road.

…

From the rear of the alley, Lucius Malfoy chuckled lightly. Gathering his rich cloak more securely around his shoulders, he set off down the alley, his boots ringing on the pavement, toward Snape. The other man, dropping his hand but not bothering to turn, began dryly, "Lucius. Didn't the Dark Lord have you in Russia this winter?"

Lucius chuckled again, a deep velvety sound that didn't echo, but laid flat upon the stone walls of the alley.

"Now Severus, that's my business. I found the wind chill and ice didn't suit me. The Dark Lord was reasonable enough to oblige me to return here to monitor our Mr. Potter. But what I don't understand is this…gesture…I just witnessed between Mr. Potter and yourself…this is certainly a plan the Dark Lord would never concoct."

"Whatever do you mean?" Severus sputtered as if insulted.

Lucius smirked. "That charming little stroke of the cheek that was almost…intimate." He replied slowly, emphasizing his words delicately.

Snape arched his dark brows forbiddingly. "Hardly, Lucius. The other day in class, I lost my temper and struck Potter. I'm afraid it left a mark. I was threatening the boy not to parade about with it. But then again," Snape narrowed his eyes, "You always did like it rough, Lucius; it's not surprising that you would confuse the gesture."

Lucius shoved his hand in his cloak grasping his wand cautiously. "Snape, those days are long past. And if I do recall, it was always you who gave way to my abuses," he said scathingly while casting a baleful glance at Severus.

Snape tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "They were clumsily made Lucius. I did you a favor by ending it."

Lucius grabbed the other man's shoulder roughly. "Severus…"he said suddenly, menacingly, imploringly. "We were well suited."

Snape shrugged languidly. "You are of noble blood Lucius, if your…preferences were exposed, your family would have killed me without reluctance. Relationships such as ours do not produce Malfoy heirs."

Lucius grimaced and shoved Snape away roughly. "Don't you ever get sick of preserving every one's glory but your own?"

"Always."

Lucius watched and Snape walked slowly away, his long cloak blowing in the breeze, walking after his young charge.

There was a pop as the dark wizard Apparated to go report to his master.


	10. The Ball Before Christmas Part A

1**Hey all! Here's the latest installment! It's not as long as I would have liked, but I'm promising to get the second half up by tomorrow night. Because of the enthusiastic response I got to the Severus/Lucius relationship, I tried to define it, and elaborate on it in this chapter. Enjoy, dears! As always, and responses and comments are highly encouraged.**

Chapter Ten: The Ball Before Christmas, Part A

The castle was abuzz with winter excitement. Students had sent out for their dress robes for the big event, and owls burdened with presents and packages of all sizes would soar through the halls and into classrooms to make deliveries. That week, little work if any was done, and everyone, student and teacher alike, were whipped into a tidy holiday frenzy. Icicles, charmed to retain their stalactite shapes, hung precariously from the ceiling of the dungeons, and charmed snow and frosted boughs of holly lined the hallway corridors. Students, even after staying inside all day, would take off their robes at night to find permanent snow stuck to the hems.

Even Harry, despite his tendencies toward brooding, had begun to take in a little of the holiday cheer, much to everyone's surprise. He belted carols as loudly as any Weasley at supper, and had been attacked under the mistletoe more times than he cared to count. Severus watched as the boy entered the Great Hall, his slow stride carrying him steadily toward the Gryffindor table, and directly into the path of a sneakily strung branch of mistletoe. Severus grimaced as he saw a Ravenclaw third year sneak quickly up beside the oblivious boy, until the pair passed under the magically charmed plant and it deployed its magical net that hindered any movements made toward escape until they gave the obligatory kiss. Harry, fumbling in mid-stride, caught by the magical net, and blushing furiously, quickly pecked the giggling girl on the lips before continuing on his way to his breakfast. The girl had run back to her friends now, and they began to whisper and point, as they had for every one of the seven times they had pulled that stunt on Harry this week.

Severus looked on as Ron and Hermione began including Harry into their conversation after several pointed looks at the mistletoe. The boy was still flushed, the crimson stain faintly lining his angular cheek bones. He was gesticulating frequently, his spidery hands weaving elegant patterns through the air. Lucius's words came back to him…_intimate_, he had called the gesture…Severus remembered briefly the firmness of Harry's cheek, the way his eyes blazed into his own so full of an imagined defiance. Lucius was right: there was something to the gesture, though intimacy seemed a cheap substitute for the term that flirted about on the tip of Severus's tongue.

His train of thought was abruptly broken when Neville Longbottom gave a shriek of terror from beneath that wretched holiday vine. Standing across from him and looking ready to projectile vomit stood Pansy Parkinson. The two eyed each other with equal animosity, though more fear showed through on Longbottom's part. Severus almost chuckled until he realized that Minerva was eying him bemusedly.

…

"Did you get your new dress robes from Madame Malkin's yet, Harry?" Hermione asked, reaching impatiently across the table for a blueberry scone.

Harry nodded over the rim of his pumpkin juice and managed to mumble, "Yesterday."

She smiled briefly in approval. "I can't believe the dance is tonight! This whole week seems to have sped by! And Christmas is tomorrow! My homework has been so light, I've hardly opened a book at all."

Harry smiled wanly and answered her pressing questions about the color and cut of his new robes, half-heartedly.

Ron scowled and picked viciously at his scrambled eggs eying Harry murderously.

Hermione shot him a hostile look and asked innocently "Ron, have you sent for your new robes yet?"

Ron turned away and mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "spen o' dunbums'

Harry looked at him confused. "What did you say, Ron?" he asked, bewildered.

Ron rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his coppery hair nervously. "I _said_ that I spent the money on Dungbombs."

Hermione groaned loudly and slammed her Astronomy text book on the table with a dull thud.

"So let me get this straight, Ronald," She said with a deadly calm. "You just spent all your dress robe money on _pranks?_"

Ron shrugged nonchalantly and mentioned offhandedly, "Have you seen the seventh floor corridor lately?"

Harry giggled, betraying, and Hermione groaned louder than ever. "So you'll have to wear those god-awful pajamas that you wore two years ago? _Again?_" She said, continuing mercilessly.

Ron shrugged again and began collecting his books and quills to make a quick exit.

Harry saluted him with his fork and kept eating, staying out of the little spat that was fast increasing in decibels and magnitude.

Ron shoved his school stuffs into his bag, and practically flew out of the door to the Great Hall, with Hermione hot on his heels, yelling the whole way about responsibility, lace cuffs, and the dance being tonight.

…

Severus gazed blankly at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he straitened the high collar of his dress robes. He had carefully pulled his hair back and tied it with a black silk ribbon. His eyes, though staring out, seemed to be turned inward, as if this mirror's reflection of them was merely showing the surfaces of two dark wells. He adjusted the sleeves of his robes slowly, carefully. The last time he had worn these robes was the last time he had been with Lucius, over seven years ago. They had met many times after that, but it had never been as lovers, hardly even as friends. The distance between what might have been and what was proved to be too great an obstacle to overcome. Snape pulled the silk of the sleeve up to his nose, inhaling tentatively. Lucius's amber scent came back to him, that spice of rose and orange that seemed to cling to the man like his shadow. If fire could be bottled and made into a scent, it would smell like Lucius.

_Lucius…_just thinking the name caused the shadows of his memory to shift and writhe. Their relationship was formed in the darker days of his life…the days of death. Theirs was a faceless romance. They had known each other vaguely from the Slytherin hallways, but had grown close over several shared missions. Often matched together because of their shared ages and abilities, they quickly had become Voldemort's most reliable and ambitious operatives. It was not long before they began spending time together outside of their missions and services to the Dark Cause, drawn to each others' coldness. Upon reflection, neither could remember the exact origins of their romance, but once initiated it had blossomed into the only passion the two men had felt in the entire courses of their lives. It seemed that no act, no pressure, could bring them close enough together, that any distance between them was a sin in itself. Despite this, their romance had been doomed from the beginning. Lucius, the heir of the Wizarding Aristocracy, was married at age twenty to a cold wife with an unlimited income, and a pedigree the length of a Quidditch field. They saw each other on and off on missives, but the distance between them had grown irrevocably larger. After Draco's birth, both had silently agreed to end the flame that had burned so brightly that it eclipsed everything else in each other's presence. Lucius had responsibilities, and Severus had remonstrations. Since their parting, neither man had again felt the passion that had burned so exhaustingly in their earlier years. They had both taken lovers on and off through the years, but the small sparks of romance these trysts incited seemed to only emphasize the burning passion they had lost when they lost each other. The ghost of it had flitted about them that day in the snowy alley, like a tattered angel.

Turning back to the mirror, Severus tried to analyze the emotion lingering like a fingerprint at a crime scene on his face. He touches his thumb briefly to his pale lips, remembering Potter's last letter as his fingers trace the cupids bow arch of his upper lip. He'd read the letter as he leaned against a cold wall in an alley across from the pub where Harry and his friends were comparing purchases. When he opened the letter and devoured its content, he looked to the appealingly happy boy who sat near the window of the pub, joking and laughing with his friends. The cordial young man in the pub and the tempestuous angel of the letter, had never before seemed like two such separate people.

_I don't think my best friend_

_Will live for long once the war_

_Begins. There is a radiance _

_About him that I recognize;_

_The radiance of those who will be _

_Not long in this world. _

Severus kisses his fingers gently. _My dear Potter, _that_ is probably the only quality Mr. Weasley and I share, _he whispers to his reflection in the mirror before turning away to finish dressing.

…

Harry walks down the stairs to the Great Hall, his dress robes trailing lightly along the cool marble of the floor. He had been surprised at the color when he had first taken them out of the tissue paper box. The robes clung to his body like a bucketful of cold water had been dumped on them, and the color made his eyes positively vibrant. Madame Malkin had done well. He had skipped out of the common room early, to avoid the press of the cluttered common room--namely Hermione. She had been casting those catty-eyed perceptive looks at him all day, and he was in no mood for explanations. Lost in thought, Snape's present firmly in hand, Harry wandered slowly past Madam Pomfrey's office, just as she opened the glass door, letting a thin triangle of light out into the hallway. She poked her head badger like out of the crack in the door.

"Oh, Harry! She sputtered with delight, "What _lovely_ robes! The color is brilliant!"

Harry squirmed nervously under her clinical gaze.

"Dear, your hair... Really, Harry, let me do something with it!" she squealed enthusiastically.

Harry eyes open wide in prospective terror, backed away toward the walls of the corridor.

"Uh," he sputtered, "No thank you, Madam Pomfrey, I have to get down to the dance…" He said, gesturing empathetically.

"Oh, no, no, no, Harry" she said, dragging him by the sleeve into her office, his feet making pathetic skidding sounds. "I insist!"

…

Severus was quite content. He had a comfortable spot at the staff table, a place near the fire, and a few stiff drinks in him to keep the ghosts of the past at bay. The Great Hall had been decorated intricately with fake snow, ice sickles, and an elaborate display of snowflakes, that fell from the ceiling, into the hall, and disappeared the moment they touched an upturned face. The dance had not officially begun yet, and students were milling about on the dance floor, socializing. Granger and Weasley were joined at the hand like Siamese twins as they wandered through the crowd, stopping to chat with acquaintances. Severus noticed that Granger kept standing on her toes and looking anxiously about and assumed that Harry had not yet made an appearance. From all corners of the Hall there rang the squeals of unsuspecting students caught in the invisible nets of subtly strung bits of mistletoe. A small quartet with a short plump witch singing was stationed in one corner, belting out moody, undisruptive songs.

Suddenly, from the entrance of the hall, there was a series of gasps and the buzz of dozens of muffled exclamations. The crowd parted and Severus, rising from his seat, caught a glimpse of emerald green dress robes. Harry had arrived. The crowd parted more and more, as if being swept away by a flood, and Severus realized that Harry was walking toward him. But _this _was not the Harry of the snow alleyway, _this_ was an angel dropped straight from heaven. Harry's robes fit narrowly down his slender torso, and flowed out at his hips in loose luxurious folds of silk. His sleeves were well fitted and tapered into bell-like cuffs at his wrists. But what startled Severus was the boy's hair. Yesterday it had been chin length, and chestnut brown. Now it fell down to the boy's collarbone in soft silky ringlets like a cherub in the paintings of old. All around Harry, people turned to stare. The ringlets had an odd effect on the boy's delicate face, softening his angular features, and adding a majesty of oriental proportions that had not been there before. Oblivious to all eyes, murmurs, or single minded stares, Harry continued toward Severus, carrying a metallic green package tied with a gold ribbon. When the boy's eyes rose from the floor to his own, Severus's stomach did an odd sort of flop. Steadying himself with a single hand on the table, Severus was overwhelmed with an emotion he hadn't experienced in over seven years.

**Sorry for the abrupt cut off, but I have a driver's exam tomorrow, and need to study a little. **


End file.
